The Barber
by Didou27
Summary: When a man known as The Barber is hired to kill Red, the task force goes on field trip, but nothing goes as planned, Red is taken and Liz will do everything in her power to save him. [post S01 AU]
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, please don't sue me :s

Takes place between season 1 and 2. Tom's missing or dead, I don't know yet.  
>Lizzington of course.<br>The rating will go up later.

Thanks Ripperblackstaff for your help! Love you!

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

"The man is known as _The Barber_," Red announced walking in the Post Office, perfectly at home.

"Reddington, thanks for joining us," Ressler greeted, irony deep in his voice. "Will you enlighten us on this new Blacklister?"

"Hello Donald! Nice to see you too!" he said joyfully. "He's crazy, really, even by my standards," Red smiled, sitting on a chair, his eyes on Liz. "Lizzie! How are you today? How's Tom? Oh yeah, sorry, you didn't find him yet," he said a lopsided smile on his lips.

"The Barber, Red," she cut his litany off.

She really didn't want to think about her husband, well former husband. She still didn't know where he was. She had been sure he was dead when she left the room after shooting him, but when the forensic team came to collect the bodies, he had disappeared leaving only a pool of blood behind him. She suspected he went to find Berlin.

"Yes, yes, you're right, as always. Focus on The Barber instead of a man who knows the layouts of this facility and your most intimates habits." Red said joyously. He was a pain in the ass when he was in this mood. "So… The Barber, really interesting man. Started his career as a waiter in Canada, then after many years of serving people, he changed the course of his life. He became a barber in a small town. That's when things went south. Nobody really knows what happen to him. His… partner died and he disappeared. A few years later, he reemerged in Bosnia, his skills with a razor blade for hiring, and I don't talk about a straight razor shave, even if his reputation in this matter is way under the truth," he explained, stroking absent-mindedly his cheek.

"And why him? Why now?" Ressler asked, eyes narrowed. Since Cooper was out for a while after his coma, Ressler was in charge of the team and seemed to take it at heart.

"Well Donald," Red started, his eyes never leaving Liz, "If you really want to know – and I'm sure you do – I'm his next target," he announced, shrugging.

"Wait! What?" Liz asked, her eyes burning holes in Red's. "How do you know he's been hired to kill you? And for how long did you know?"

"You know I haves the means to know any potential threats. As I said, there's always a price on my head – from both sides really – but I'm tired of this one," he smiled smugly, his head slightly tilted, eyes gleaming.

Liz closed her eyes at the explanation. He didn't even try to hide the fact he was using the FBI to clean his doorstep anymore. This man would be the death of her. But she had made a choice after the debacle of Berlin, and now she had to assume that choice, no matter what.

"We need more," Ressler cut in, breaking the link between Red and Liz.

"Of course Donald! Why don't you come for dinner tonight, Lizzie? I cook," Red said smiling playfully at Ressler.

The young agent shook his head at Reddington. He knew perfectly that when the man was in that mood, there was no way to make him change his mind.

"I can't…"

"Nonsense Lizzie!" Reddington cut her off. "You don't have any social life since Tom and I'm sure your Netflix queue can wait another day," he said adjusting his fedora on his head. "See you tonight," he added before leaving the room with his bodyguard.

"I'm gonna kill him, I swear I'm gonna kill him," Liz mumbled watching the Concierge of Crime walk out the Post Office.

"As annoying as the man is, we need him, Keen," Ressler said flatly before exiting the room, leaving Liz alone.

Liz closed her eyes and let her head bump on the desktop, sighing. Reddington was a pain in the ass, but Ressler was right, they needed him. After Berlin, she had made sure he was staying in D.C. to help them. She knew he had been about to leave when she caught him with Dembe in front of the safe-house he was using at the time, and she had asked him to stay. And he had, for her. She still didn't know why she was so important for him, but since he was the reason of the task force, she had to humor him. Even when he was his insufferable jerk self. And now she had to share dinner with him.

It wouldn't be the first time, of course, it was a habit of him, but even after many meals with the man, she still felt a little nervous about being on her own with the Concierge of Crime. It must be because of her training as FBI Agent or maybe his links with Sam and her youth. Sighing, Liz left the empty room and went to her office to start looking for their next target. Even if she wouldn't admit it, she was nervous for Red's safety. He was an important asset, without him, there would be no task force and she would be back behind a desk, profiling low ranking criminals for the rest of her life. She wasn't sure she could do it anymore.

And aside from being an asset, she was worrying for Red himself. They had learned to trust each other, to work together and to be honest they were pretty good at it. In a twisted way, Red was the heart of the team and by association, she felt important when he was with her. She couldn't define what her feelings were for Raymond Reddington, and it was scaring her.

When Tom had been around, she had resented Red's incursion in her life as an intrusion, but now, she felt flattered to be always the focus of his mind. She felt important, even loved sometimes when he looked at her like the treasure she knew she wasn't. She knew he was playing with her – that at least was obvious – but she couldn't help but feel her body react every time she spotted his fedora in a room.

She was screwed and she knew it. He had worked his glamour on her and she had fallen without even knowing it. They were like a planet and its moon always gravitating around each other but unable to touch. Elizabeth sighed again and started her computer, pushing Red from her mind, she had work to do and tonight would be a better time to worry about the strange game they were playing.

She spent hours going through old files and newspapers articles, looking for anything that may lead them to The Barber but in vain. Without Red, they were stuck and the bastard knew it. Turning off her computer, Liz exited her office and left the facility. She needed time to get ready for her dinner with Red. When she reached her car, she spotted an envelope on the driver seat. Unlocking the door, she shook her head and took the note. Of course it was Red, who else could have forced her car parked in one of the FBI blacksite without triggering the security?

'_Dembe will pick you up at 8 pm. Red.' _A smile spread on her lips at the theatrics he was using. He could have told her when they were in the conference room, but no, he had chosen to force her car and leave a note written in his smooth handwriting, in red ink. The man was a showman.

A smile on her lips, Liz settled behind the wheel of her silver Mercedes – courtesy of Red – and left work behind to get ready for the evening with a notorious criminal.

When she opened her apartment door, she knew something was odd. Someone had been here in her absence, she was sure of it. Gun in hand, she walked slowly in the lounge, ready to fire. She froze suddenly and lowered her hand, holstering her weapon, a smile on her lips. On the kitchen counter stood a lonely red rose in a small crystal vase she didn't remember buying. Against it another envelope waited for her.

She closed the distance and smelled the subtle fragrance of the flower before opening the envelope. _'No need to dress up, Lizzie. Red.'_ She laughed at that. Of course he had knew she would freak out about her outfit for the dinner. She never knew what to expect with him. Every time he set up an evening for them, they went to a different place, small diner with plastic tablecloth, five stars restaurant, the two of them at his place with take out, or a little feast for them and some guests cooked by a chef, she never knew what the evening would hold in store. And to be honest, she loved it.

Leaving the note on the counter, she took the rose and went to her room; it would be lovely on the window ledge. She then went to the bathroom and after a short shower, opened her dressing and started to go through her clothes to find the perfect casual outfit for the night.


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks Rippy, love you!

Thanks for the reviews!

I own nothing... please don't sue...

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><p>At 8pm sharp, Dembe knocked at the door of her new apartment. After Tom's disappearance, she had sold the house and bought a smaller place. The house had been full of memories of happiness and deceptions; she couldn't stand to live there anymore. Of course Red had tried to influence her choice, booking appointments in her name to visit some grander places than she whished for or even could afford. When she had confronted him about his behaviors, he had said that she deserved to live in luxury and that if she wanted him to, he could help. She had been furious of course, shutting him out of her life for a week or so, until she found the right place to live in. She perfectly knew he had been watching over her shoulder the entire time, but couldn't do anything about it. The man was obsessed with her, and she couldn't start to understand why.<p>

"Agent Keen," Dembe greeted when she finally opened the door.

She smiled at the bodyguard, knowing that he was subject at Red's changes of moods as much as her. She couldn't understand why such a man as Dembe could suffer to live with someone as Red for that long. But they seemed to go along smoothly.

"Where are we going?" she asked when the car took a direction she didn't recognized.

"New location."

"Oh."

For a year, Red had been navigating between five or six safe-houses more or less close to her house, always keeping an eye on her and close enough for her to seek refuge there in case she needed it. But since she had moved, he must have had to find others places to live in. After a ten minutes ride, Dembe pulled over in front of a building. She looked at the façade puzzled. It didn't look like somewhere Raymond Reddington could live. The front door was slightly ajar, the paint cracked and the door handle missing. A man with a dog at his feet was siting on the doorsteps, smoking.

She looked at Dembe, silently asking what they were doing here, but the man just took her arm and walked her to the door, nodding at the man when they walked by him. He pushed the door and led her inside. The hall wasn't much better than the outside. Dead plants stood in the corners, an old dirty carpet on the floor hid the cracked tiles and, on her left an old reception desk was crawling under yellowish mail and newspapers, covered in webs. She thought she saw some syringes long forgotten by the door.

Dembe led her to an old cracking and whining elevator and pushed silently the penthouse button. The cabin rose painfully for a moment before stopping abruptly creaming its imminent death in the confinement of the metal box. Her hand closed immediately around Dembe's forearm, fear in her eyes. The man smiled at her reaction and kicked the control panel three times before the cabin resumed its ascension.

"What the hell," Liz breathed.

"The best of security," Dembe said, smiling.

She shook her head and tried to relax for the rest of the ride. When the doors opened in what seemed to be an antechamber, with warm wood paneling walls and a cream plush carpet on the floor, her jaw gapped open. She saw Dembe take off his shoes and place them next to what must be Red's and followed the lead, taking her shoes off, her cheap footwear at odd with the gleaming leather of theirs. She spotted a row of fedoras on the wall before the door opened on a smiling Red.

"Lizzie! Thank God you're here! I was afraid the rice would be overcooked!" he said taking a step outside, his bare toes buried in the carpet. He was wearing black dress pants and a white shirt, the sleeves rolled to the elbow. There was no trace of a tie or vest and the two top buttons were open. He was extremely sexy, the thought run through Liz's head before she could stop it. "Please come in," Red smiled, spotting her sudden blush.

"It's… not your usual, I guess," she said, shaking her head at her lack of eloquence.

"Well everybody has to change their habits some times," he said, leading her through the door.

As soon as the door closed behind her, she felt Red's hand on her back directing her slowly to the left. She let her eyes take in the room she was crossing. Plush cream carpets on the floor, two enormous sofas as shade lighter stood in the middle of the room facing the fireplace were surrounded by small stands of dark wood covered in trinkets. Some paintings hung on the wall caught her eyes and she spotted at least a Picasso and a Chagall. She shook her head, the façade of the building might not be Red's usual, but the penthouse was up to the man's standards.

He led her to the kitchen and the faint smell of food she had spotted when he opened the door filled her nostrils and her stomach made an extremely un-lady-like growl. Red chuckled at the sound and motioned her to sit on a tall stool at the counter.

"Paella!"

"Pardon me?"

"We're having paella tonight" he said, his head tilted on the side, studying her reaction.

"It smells delicious," she smiled when he beamed at her.

"You're going to love it! It will be ready shortly, the rice has to absorb the water and we'll be calming that growling stomach of yours," he said smiling proudly.

"Will Dembe be joining us?" she asked, shaking her head at the explanation. She was an awful cook and he knew it, his explanations were all for the show.

"No, it will be the two of us alone tonight," he said his eyes on her, waiting for the panic he knew would show in her eyes.

Liz felt her insides knot at that. They would be alone for the evening. It wasn't unusual but since Tom's disappearance, Red seemed to plan those evenings more and more. She knew Red had an agenda – he had never hidden it – but she hadn't realized he had one about her also. She slapped herself mentally at that, of course he had an agenda, the man had an agenda for everything why not her. She shook her head and smiled ruefully, her life was such a mess since Red turned himself in.

"What's going on?" Red asked when he saw her sad eyes.

"Nothing, just thinking," she replied blinking rapidly.

"Sam?" he asked full of concern.

Elizabeth nodded slowly. It was easier to let him think her sadness came from the loss of her father than him and their relationship. Of course thinking about Sam saddened her and knowing that he was dead because of the man facing her didn't help but they had talked about it when she went to him after Berlin. She understood his motives now, but it didn't help to settle her anger. She had chosen to go to him, to make him stay despite his implication in Sam's death, despite everything he still hid from her. She had chosen to work with him even if it hurt, even if he made her feel things she didn't want to feel. She had chosen him.

Head lowered, she heard him move around the counter and stop behind her, his body heat bathing her back. She tensed when she felt his hands on her shoulders, his thumbs tracing soothing patterns on her back. She felt him close the distance between them, is front flush against her back, his smell engulfing her, soothing her fears.

"I'm sorry," he breathed his nose buried in her dark curls.

"I know," she whispered back, her hand on his on her shoulder.

She squeezed his hand lightly before shrugging. He took the cue and stepped back, his hands slipping from her shoulders. She could have screamed at the loss of his heat but she still could feel his concerned eyes on her. She felt her stomach knot at the intensity of his stare, she knew he wanted to say something, to apologize again and again, but she didn't need it anymore.

"I think the rice is ready," she said when he didn't move.

"Yes, of course," he whispered before walking to the stove. "Would you prefer to eat here or in the dinner room?" he asked falsely joyful.

"Here would be perfect," she said smiling.

He smiled back and went to the cupboards to set the table. Liz's eyes followed his every movements, noting the way he moved, he seemed at home in a kitchen. A strange heat started to burn slowly in her gut, she wasn't used to such a domestic Red. He seemed… peaceful tonight. Even with a hit on his head, he seemed perfectly calm and it was innerving Liz badly. She couldn't understand what he was playing at. He wasn't the Red she was used to work with. Suddenly, it hit her like a brick wall; she wasn't with Red tonight. Tonight he had shed his mask; tonight she had a glimpse of Raymond, the man he had been before The Concierge of Crime. And it scared her.

He put a dish in front of her before pouring some white wine in her glass then took place next to her, smiling. Slowly he raised his glass and crooked an eyebrow, waiting for her to do the same.

"Picpoul de Pinet, 1998," he said clinking their glasses before taking a sip. "I brought back this wine the last time I was in France. I spent a few months in the south of France doing _La Route des Vins _and I found this little gem in a town called Pomérols. It was crazy really, the France just won the World Cup, everybody was in the streets, their faces painted in blue, white and red, very strange people," he said thoughtfully, a sad smile spread on his lips.

"What's with the sadness?" Liz asked, ignoring the comment about strange people and facial paint.

"Nothing," he said. "Try it with some lemon, you'll be surprised!" he added his mask once again in place.

Liz sighed and took the lemon wedge he was giving her. She squeezed it on top of her plate and took her fork. She let a soft moan out at her first bite. At the sound, Red beamed at her, smiling smugly. He seemed very proud of himself. He took another sip of his wine and started eating.

"How I am supposed to eat that?" she asked suddenly breaking the silence, glaring at a shrimp.

"My my Lizzie, don't tell me you never had shrimps before," he looked at her, surprised.

"They usually come without the shell on," she replied more angrily than she intended to.

"Oh my God, Lizzie, you're positively marvelous," he laughed, a smile cracking his face almost in two. "Let me show you." He pushed the remaining rice on the side of his plate and took fork and knife in hand. He cut off the head, then slid the tip of his knife under the shell and slowly made his way to the tail. With his fork he took the meat out of its shell and laid the perfectly peeled shrimp on his plate. "See? It's not that hard," he smiled.

Liz sighed and started to peel the _beast_. After one minute or two, she came out with a mushy pile of shrimp meat facing her accusingly.

"Don't you dare to laugh!" she warned when she saw the gleam in Red's eyes.

"I would never think about it," he said, fighting the laugh he felt rising in his chest. "Let me show you another way," he said after a few seconds of deep breathing. "It's a messier way, but easier."

He took another shrimp from the pan and tore off its head with his fingers. Eying Liz, he brought the shrimp to his lips and sucked noisily the juice stuck inside the shell. He then cut off the legs with his teeth, putting them on the side of his plate; he finished to peel the shrimp with his fingers.

Her eyes glued on Red's lips, Elizabeth felt heat rise on her cheeks, watching his lips and tongue work around the shrimp was too much for her imagination. If he could do this to a shrimp what would it be to have him work his mouth on her body?, she thought, turning a nice shade of crimson.

"Try it," he said suddenly, startling her out of her fantasy.

Her eyes focused on him and she realized he hadn't missed a second of her reaction to his demonstration. She felt heat rise again on her face and took the shrimp he was handing her. She could feel him staring at her while she peeled the crustacean with her teeth. He was right – of course he was – it was easier that way. She ate the shrimp before looking at him. His eyes were on her mouth, his head tilted to the side, his stare as intent as hers a few minutes ago.

He suddenly cleared his throat, breaking the tension of the room and raised to clear the table. Putting the dishes in the sink, he went to the fridge and took two bowls out.

"What's that?" Lizzie asked curiously.

"Dessert!" Red said putting one bowl before her.

She smiled and took the toothpick stuck in a perfect squared piece of watermelon and popped it in her mouth. They ate their dessert in companionable silence before heading to the lounge, their glass of wine in hand.

They sat on the couch facing the empty earth, sipping their drink silently. It was strange, they had been perfectly at ease while eating, even during the shrimp show, but now they could feel the atmosphere shifting.

Elizabeth cleared her throat after a few minutes, putting her glass on the coffee table.

"So… the Barber…" she began and Red sighed. She could see him slipping his mask in place, becoming Red again.

"I met him something like ten years ago. I was doing some business in Boston and our paths crossed at a party hosted by my dear friend Denny. You must meet Denny one day! You would positively be smitten by the man!" he beamed at her.

"Red please, focus," she sighed.

"Alright, alright, but I will organize a dinner with Denny! So the room was filled with lawyers and that man was there, sitting in a corner, observing the room. It struck me as odd so I went to him and began small talking. You know how good I am at small talking, don't you? Anyway, he told me his name was Pierre Beauchamp, it may be an alias but I doubt it. The man was broken, his partner had just been killed and he was here to sue the murderer. I guess it didn't go well, the next time I heard from him he was a blade to hire," he explained shaking his head.

"Why didn't you tell us if you knew his name from the beginning?" Liz asked angrily.

"Where would be the fun? If I had told you earlier you would be at the Post Office going through old files trying to find him. I rather see you here with me, sweetheart," he smiled, facing her, his head slightly tilted on the side. "You don't want to hear what happened next?" he asked when Liz got up, pulling her cellphone out of her jean back pocket.

"I have to give his name to Aram, you know it Red. I'm tired of your games," she spat, speed dialing her coworker.

She spotted Red going to the kitchen while talking with Aram and coming back the bottle of wine in his hand. He made a gesture toward her and she nodded, watching him fill her glass before filling his and taking a sip, obviously waiting for her to hang up with the Bureau. She thanked Aram before putting her phone back in her pocket.

"Ressler won't be happy," she said siting back next to him.

"Let him be angry, he's just the interim," Red said handing her the glass of wine.

"What's the rest of the story?" she asked shaking her head.

"He hit on me," Red said mater-of-fact.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Yes. The next time I met him, he had been hired to kill me and the guy just hit on me while his blade was on my throat. I told you he's really a nut job," Red explained, his fingers stroking lightly his neck.

"How did you escape?" Liz asked fearing the answer.

"I kissed him. I grabbed him by the nape of his neck and snogged him till he let his blade fall on the floor. I knocked him out and tied him up before leaving," he said, eyeing her to see her reaction. He wasn't disappointed. She looked at him, mouth agape, eyes wide open, she seemed frozen.

"You… You kissed him into oblivion?" Liz breathed her eyes fixed on Red's lips.

"I wouldn't have put it that way, but yes. I kissed him and distracted him just enough to free myself," he said waving his hand slightly embarrassed. "Stop looking at my lips, I won't kiss you into oblivion, sweetheart. Not until you ask me to anyway," he added in a raspy voice and inching closer to her, his thigh almost touching hers.

He turned his head and Liz hold her breath, her heart racing in her chest. He was so close that she could feel Red's breath grazing her lips, she couldn't help but closed her eyes and waited for him to close the gap between them. It had been so long since someone had her feeling that way.

"I think not," he whispered grazing her lips before pulling back.

She couldn't hold the groan leaving her throat when she felt the heat of his breath leaving her face.

"You son of a bitch" she mumbled opening her eyes and burning holes in Red's.

"Language Lizzie" he chuckled sipping his wine, a smug smile on his lips.

"Bastard," she breathed before drinking what was left in her glass and getting up. "Good night Red," she said walking angrily to the door. He had played her and won, as always.

"Good night Sweetheart," he said when the door closed on Liz.

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><p>No shrimp has been injured during the writing of this chapter. The one in Red's mouth has actually quite enjoyed the experience.<p> 


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